Sick in the Head

Meeting the Devil

"Just to talk?" I ask him, voice wavering slightly on the other end of the line. "Just to talk. This isn't how I want to leave it," he says, "give me a couple hours, hell, give me one hour before you run off and marry him and leave me forever." "Okay." I answer him. "Come by around 6 and we'll talk." The hours tick by mercilessly. I pace the tile floors of my lonely house, footsteps echoing. I change my hair, overdo my makeup, wipe it off, try it again a little more natural. Steven. The name wracks my brain like a headache I just can't shake. My heart tied to his, it's been almost a year since we broke up and I started dating his best friend, Brandon. Brandon is sweet, he's loyal and caring and, well, comfortable. But Steven... god, Steven breaks me down to nothing and builds me back higher. He pushes every nerve in my body and touches me like I'm made of glass. Making love with Steven was being stretched to the limit, pleasured in ways I'd never even dreamt of, and used well beyond my limits. My body's soulmate, just, not always my mind's. Rain beats down on the windows. "Just to talk" I remind myself. As if Steven and I have ever just talked. He looks at me deeply, puts his hand on my thigh and takes my neck in his palm and squeezes. It's over. "No. He wants to move on. You want to move on. It's over". I hear his truck before I see it. A sleek, black GMC that always peals in too quickly. I step away from the door as not to appear too eager and wait for him to knock. He does, and I wait for a second so it doesn't seem like I've been standing there for a half hour waiting, pathetic. As I open the door, my heart pounding, my stomach drops. There he is. Muscular and tall, just over 6'4, looking down at me, smiling. His striking blue eyes with a twinge of sadness but his pink lips formed into a smile. His hair, naturally stark blonde, hanging just below his ear line. A picture of perfection. We have the same greeting every time. A hug. Simple enough. He wraps his arms around my frame. I breathe in his familiar scent, comforting as ever. A mix of rose hips shampoo, rustic cologne, and mint. His entire aura mesmerizing me and driving me wild just at a glance. His fingers grab the back of my shirt as if he were trying to hold me in and I feel him breathe against my chest. Deep and slow breaths. You could cut the tension and ache in the room with a knife. "Hey baby" he says to me. "Hey," I say back. He leads me over to the couch and draws me in tight to his body, the way we always sit. One hand brushes rhythmically against my cheek and neck, pushing hair behind my ears while the other holds my hand in his. My heart all but breaks as he starts talking. At first it's quiet conversation and then his voice catches. He lets out a sigh,
biting the edge of his lip slowly, "god, I hoped we'd never get here. But here we are." "Here we are," I say through tears. "Don't cry, please. I'm sorry I should'nt have come. I just couldn't let this go without seeing it through." "No, I'm glad you came. Really, I am." Im blushing as though we've never spoken, as if this man doesn't intimately know every inch of my body. "We always fight. Why are we at each other's throats?" He asks me solemnly. His hand gently releases mine, drifting to my knee and dangerously up my thigh. "That's all were good at," I sigh. My heart breaks with every word, knowing this could be the last time we talk. "That's not all... we're good at.." he hints at an obvious affliction we share. A machine gun libido. I laugh a little, but brush it off as nervous rebuttal. My head is spinning. His hand creeps slowly up my thigh, his nails gently raking my skin, his fingers sliding Rythmically into the rips in my jeans. I feel my heart pounding and the blood rush down my body. He knows exactly what he's doing to me.. and he loves it. I fight my eyes not to look at his, like the thrall of Medusa, so dangerous, but so goddamn tempting. The battle was short, his free hand catches my chin and tilts it slowly upwards, meeting his starry gaze. The flames in the back of his eyes come off soft, like embers. Embers that hold me in a trance, hypnotized and under his spell.